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Authors: Erica O'Rourke
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closer. Chapped lips, light brown hair in a messy ponytail, and a challenging note in her voice. Another message from the old guy? The Seraphim making a move?
Warily, I brushed a finger over my wrist, wondering if she could sense my connection to Luc. If so, maybe she wouldn’t attack straight-out, not when I could summon him so quickly.
I pointed to my plastic nametag. “Looks like it, huh?”
“Mo Fitzgerald.”
I set the coffeepot down on the counter. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. “Jenny Kowalski,” she said, lifting her chin and trying for brave. “I think you knew my dad.”
Oh, hell. Not magic, but trouble just the same.
C HAPTER 9
“Y ou’re Jenny?” I could see it now, in the shape of her nose, in her coloring. A little bit around the eyes, too. She had the taut, lean look of a distance runner. Maybe she got that from her mom, because Joseph Kowalski had been a big guy, muscle softened to fat over his twenty years with the Chicago Police Department.
I swallowed, looked down at the counter. “I’m really sorry about your dad. He was a good cop.”
“He was a great cop. He was a great dad. Did you know he was retiring soon?”
“He mentioned it.” He’d talked about sending his youngest daughter off to college, then taking his wife to Florida and doing some fishing in the Gulf. No fishing for Kowalski. No watching Jenny cross the stage for her diploma. He’d never do any of those things now.
Because Joseph Kowalski had died trying to save me.
And nobody knew it.
The official story was that he’d gone to investigate a report of a gas leak at the Chicago Water Tower. Nobody made mention of the fact it wasn’t his district or that he’d been off duty for the night. He’d been nearby when the call came across the radio, and he’d checked it out. And been caught inside when the Water Tower exploded.
The real story was that he’d followed me there, trying to piece together the truth of Verity’s death. Evangeline had tricked me into releasing the raw magic, triggering the Torrent. When Kowalski had seen me in danger, he’d braved the magic and the Darklings anyway, trying to bring me out safely. The magic had caught him. He’d never stood a chance.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “How are you doing? Your family?”
I’d seen them huddled together at the funeral, Kowalski’s wife and four daughters, surrounded by a sea of navy blue dress uniforms. The story had been splashed all over the papers, but I was careful not to read the articles. There was nothing left for me to learn about that night.
“Pretty crappy. How’s yours?”
“Mine?”
“Your family. My dad was really interested in your family, did you know that? He talked about you guys all the time.”
“My family didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Verity.”
Elsa told me once that Kowalski had specifically asked for Verity’s case. It must have seemed like a great way to gather evidence against the Chicago Mob. Everyone assumed Verity had been killed by a rival crime organization, probably Russians. They thought she’d been either a mistake—that they were actually supposed to come after me—or a warning, like, “Turn over your territory or your niece is next.” So Kowalski had followed me, looked into Colin’s history, harassed my uncle, and all for nothing. The Outfit wasn’t responsible for Verity’s death. It was magic, and in the end, it killed Kowalski, too.
“You think it was coincidence? A random twist of fate?” I stared at her. Her hands were still trembling, and she pressed them against the counter. I knew that look in her eye, the bewildering grief and rage, the deafening need to make some sense of what had happened. She’d fixed on me as the key to it all.
“Not fate. Awful,” I said. “And unfair. Like what happened to your dad, wrong place, wrong time.”
“No!” Heads turned, and she lowered her voice. “My dad was
Warily, I brushed a finger over my wrist, wondering if she could sense my connection to Luc. If so, maybe she wouldn’t attack straight-out, not when I could summon him so quickly.
I pointed to my plastic nametag. “Looks like it, huh?”
“Mo Fitzgerald.”
I set the coffeepot down on the counter. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She brushed a wisp of hair out of her face. “Jenny Kowalski,” she said, lifting her chin and trying for brave. “I think you knew my dad.”
Oh, hell. Not magic, but trouble just the same.
C HAPTER 9
“Y ou’re Jenny?” I could see it now, in the shape of her nose, in her coloring. A little bit around the eyes, too. She had the taut, lean look of a distance runner. Maybe she got that from her mom, because Joseph Kowalski had been a big guy, muscle softened to fat over his twenty years with the Chicago Police Department.
I swallowed, looked down at the counter. “I’m really sorry about your dad. He was a good cop.”
“He was a great cop. He was a great dad. Did you know he was retiring soon?”
“He mentioned it.” He’d talked about sending his youngest daughter off to college, then taking his wife to Florida and doing some fishing in the Gulf. No fishing for Kowalski. No watching Jenny cross the stage for her diploma. He’d never do any of those things now.
Because Joseph Kowalski had died trying to save me.
And nobody knew it.
The official story was that he’d gone to investigate a report of a gas leak at the Chicago Water Tower. Nobody made mention of the fact it wasn’t his district or that he’d been off duty for the night. He’d been nearby when the call came across the radio, and he’d checked it out. And been caught inside when the Water Tower exploded.
The real story was that he’d followed me there, trying to piece together the truth of Verity’s death. Evangeline had tricked me into releasing the raw magic, triggering the Torrent. When Kowalski had seen me in danger, he’d braved the magic and the Darklings anyway, trying to bring me out safely. The magic had caught him. He’d never stood a chance.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “How are you doing? Your family?”
I’d seen them huddled together at the funeral, Kowalski’s wife and four daughters, surrounded by a sea of navy blue dress uniforms. The story had been splashed all over the papers, but I was careful not to read the articles. There was nothing left for me to learn about that night.
“Pretty crappy. How’s yours?”
“Mine?”
“Your family. My dad was really interested in your family, did you know that? He talked about you guys all the time.”
“My family didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Verity.”
Elsa told me once that Kowalski had specifically asked for Verity’s case. It must have seemed like a great way to gather evidence against the Chicago Mob. Everyone assumed Verity had been killed by a rival crime organization, probably Russians. They thought she’d been either a mistake—that they were actually supposed to come after me—or a warning, like, “Turn over your territory or your niece is next.” So Kowalski had followed me, looked into Colin’s history, harassed my uncle, and all for nothing. The Outfit wasn’t responsible for Verity’s death. It was magic, and in the end, it killed Kowalski, too.
“You think it was coincidence? A random twist of fate?” I stared at her. Her hands were still trembling, and she pressed them against the counter. I knew that look in her eye, the bewildering grief and rage, the deafening need to make some sense of what had happened. She’d fixed on me as the key to it all.
“Not fate. Awful,” I said. “And unfair. Like what happened to your dad, wrong place, wrong time.”
“No!” Heads turned, and she lowered her voice. “My dad was
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